One Without The Other
by Nagi Kokuyo
Summary: Storm and rain often go together, don't they? One cannot be without the other. It seems the same goes for the Vongola Famiglia's Rain and Storm Guardians. Partner fic to "Silver Lining." 8059, insinuated 1859


**Title: **One Without The Other

**Author: **MissSparks

**Fandom: **Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

**Characters: **TYL Yamamoto, TYL Gokudera

**Pairings:** 8059, mentioned 1827

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Mild spoilers, homosexuality (meaning boy x boy love, people), mild language, innuendos and mentions of sex

**Disclaimer: **As much as I wish it was different, I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn!, nor any of its characters, and I'm not making any profit out of this (Puh-leeze, I _wish!_)

**Summary: **Storm and rain often go together, don't they? It seems the same goes for the Vongola Famiglia. Partner fic to "Silver Lining." 8059, insinuated 1859

**A/N: **Please review! Tell me what you think, but no flames please! This is a partner fic to my KHR story "Silver Lining," though reading the other one isn't necessary. This is my first 8059 fic, and slightly longer than "Silver Lining."

Also, please shoot me now for the clichéd excuse for fluff that is to come. It was almost painful to write, but I think it's sweet. Still…shoot me now. It will be less painful later.

* * *

><p>TWO TWENTY-FIVE O'CLOCK A.M., VONGOLA HQ, ITALY:<p>

The weather in Italy that night was, in a word, nasty. Juggernaut winds, hammering rain, a layer of clouds that made Mount McKinley look like a pancake. Anyone with an ounce of sense would be huddled safe in their homes, windows closed and house sealed. Of course, at O'Dark Thirty (technically, the "thirty" should be "forty-five," but it doesn't have the same ring to it), anyone with an ounce of sense would be asleep. The streets were deserted; the rain made the roads treacherous and anyone stupid enough to drive on them was practically begging to spin out of control and crash. And yet, there _was _one set of headlights on the European roads. Three people inside.

He looked out at the rain and frowned, trying to see through it; the windshield wipers were on, but it didn't do much good. It was dangerous to be out driving in weather like this, but they were running late already. He was anxious to get home, as were Chrome and, although he'd never admit it, Hibari. They all had people waiting for them, people who were worrying about them. In the backseat, Chrome was asleep, her head resting against the window and her face serene. Hibari was in the passenger's seat, arms folded, chin dropped on his chest and eyes closed. Yamamoto didn't know if the Cloud Guardian was asleep or not, but he was fine with the silence. It gave him time to think.

It had been two weeks since he'd seen the Vongola estate, and he felt a kind of giddiness at returning. He was eager to get some _real _food (by "real," he meant food that he knew was A. actually edible, B. wasn't possibly roadkill, and C. wouldn't give him food poisoning), take a shower someplace other than a seedy motel (don't ask), and sleep in his own bed. He was also eager to see all his friends.

Giannini would have some new invention to show them, Bianchi would (as per usual) try to force feed them her food, Lambo would pester them over whether or not they brought something for him, Ryohei would yell something about it being "EXTREMELY awesome" for them to be back, and Reborn would scold them for taking too long. Tsuna would just smile, kiss Hibari on the cheek, and welcome them back warmly even though Yamamoto knew he would have been worried sick. His own boyfriend, Gokudera, would act like he was irritated that it took them so long, scowling and swearing at him, and maybe even flicking a bomb or two at him for good measure.

_Hayato._

Yamamoto was most eager to see the silver-haired bomber. The last time he'd seen him, the Storm Guardian had been pissed at him for something. Yamamoto wasn't actually sure what Gokudera was angry about; he was usually grumpy, but it had gotten worse in the days before his departure to Mexico City. Yamamoto had thought long and hard about it, trying to decode the reason for Gokudera's increased moodiness, but he'd drawn a blank. He could only hope that the new box weapon he'd brought back for the bomber was enough to make up for it, whatever it was. The edges of the box were digging into his side, reminding him of its presence constantly.

Up ahead, the wrought-iron gate of the Vongola estate appeared, and Yamamoto smiled with relief. _Finally. _He reached out a hand towards Hibari's shoulder, meaning to shake him gently to wake him up.

"Touch me and I'll remove that arm," said the Cloud Guardian, opening his eyes and looking at the other man out of the corner of his eye. Yamamoto pulled back his hand, chuckling, and instead turned to wake Chrome. He knew Hibari wouldn't actually hurt him—not permanently or fatally, at least—so he wasn't afraid.

At the gate, he rolled down the window, typed in the pass code, and yanked his arm back into the vehicle as quickly as possible. It was _cold _out there, much colder than it had been at the airport! He rolled up the window as the gates swung open, and he drove through into the familiar grounds. He stuck to the paved avenue and a few minutes later, he was pulling into his parking spot in the garage and cutting the engine. Chrome, sleepy-eyed and yawning, stepped out of the car and blinked at Yamamoto blearily.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, he held up his hand and smiled.

"Go get some rest, Chrome. The luggage can wait until later."

She nodded and walked, skirt swishing, towards the elevator. Locking the car and making a mental note to remember their bags, Yamamoto followed her; Hibari was already long gone, almost certainly to Tsuna's room. The two, Hibari and Tsuna, made a strange pair, but then, Yamamoto had no room to talk. Chrome pressed the buttons for their respective floors, and Yamamoto leaned back against the wall, reminiscing.

It had been seven years, four months, twenty-six days, and twelve hours since he and Gokudera started dating (not that anyone was keeping count—of course, everyone was waiting for Gokudera to go nuclear, but it wasn't like there was a _calendar _anywhere that was counting the days, or, say, a _betting pool_). After a series of unfortunate events, explosions, a mix up of bus tickets, and one accident involving a chocolate cake, the two had found themselves stranded in the forest near Namimori. They'd wandered around for hours until they'd gotten into a huge argument that had somehow dissolved into Gokudera being pressed against a tree, hands tangled in Yamamoto's hair, and their mouths pressed together.

Here they were, over seven years later and against all odds, still together. True, they were a match made in hell. There were days when one wanted to kill the other, or days when the others in the Vongola wanted to just kill them both and get it over with. It took Yamamoto four months to tell the silveret bomber that he loved him, and he hadn't even done it in a romantic way; on impulse, he'd blurted it out over breakfast, and had then promptly flushed as the full implications of his actions hit him. Gokudera had kissed him, someone had shouted "Candid moment!", and there was a flash. Gokudera flipped the bird in their general direction. Yamamoto had grinned into the kiss.

Gokudera Hayato was short-tempered, sarcastic, slightly sadistic, and had more angst than a teenage vampire romance flick. He was suspicious of everyone—with the exceptions of Tsuna and (he hoped) Yamamoto—and could hold a grudge for years. He was loyal and stubborn and bull-headed, and he automatically assumed the worst in people. He was a genius and an excellent pianist, but a disaster in the kitchen, and was deeply interested in cryptozoology. He was difficult and could be more than infuriating half the time, and even now, he spent equal time trying to kill Yamamoto as he did loving him.

Yamamoto wouldn't trade Gokudera for anyone in the world.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Chrome gave him a drowsy, "Good night" and departed. Yamamoto watched her go before heading towards the room he shared with Gokudera; it was marked by the lingering smell of gunpowder and the burn stains on the wood. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, doubt clouding his mind. The Japanese native slipped his hand into the jacket, fingers closing around the box weapon. He brought it out, as if to assure himself that it was still there. He could see his reflection in the light blue surface, and he had to swallow the sudden anxiety. A million questions ran through his head, and for the first time in a while, he was unsure that he was making the right move.

_What if I just screw things up worse?_

"Grow some stones and go through with it already."

Yamamoto turned on his heel, coming face to face with Hibari. "What?" he said dumbly.

Hibari rolled his eyes. "Just give it to him already, or—" "Or you'll bite me to death. I know, I know." Yamamoto grinned at the annoyed scowl on Hibari's face; the Cloud Guardian cared too much for Tsuna to actually hurt any of his friends. But still… His grin faded and, with a troubled expression, he looked back down at the box. "Yeah, you're probably right."

As much as it hurt to admit it, Hibari had a point. He just had to get it over with and hope for the best.

Hibari walked off down the hall to Tsuna's bedroom; he had his own at the base, but Yamamoto didn't think he'd actually ever spent the night in it. With a shake of his head, the Rain Guardian set his shoulders and opened the door. It felt good to be back in his own room; same bed, same desk, same stack of dynamite on previously-mentioned desk. The unmoving lump on the bed told him that his boyfriend had long gone to bed. His jacket, tie, and shoes were disposed of as he made his way across the room, and the rest of his clothing was quickly replaced by a fresh pair of boxers and a T-shirt. He sauntered over to the bed, set the box weapon on the nightstand, and slipped under the covers.

He ran his fingers through the soft silver hair of his lover and, after receiving no reaction, he pressed a kiss against the back of Gokudera's neck. At the same time, he hooked an arm around the bomber's waist and pulled him close. The Storm Guardian groaned and twisted around, sleepy green eyes meeting Yamamoto's brown. "Ngh…You're back," the Italian grumbled, half-asleep.

Yamamoto laughed, kissing Gokudera's cheek. "You don't sound happy to see me, Hayato," he said, breath warming Gokudera's skin. His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a huskier tone. "Perhaps I should change that…"

With that, he captured his boyfriend's mouth in a kiss. It was immediately reciprocated, Gokudera eagerly welcoming the baseball player's advances. Yamamoto lightly nipped Gokudera's bottom lip, eliciting a moan from the Storm Guardian, and plunged his tongue deep into his lover's warm mouth. Yamamoto felt Gokudera groan into his mouth, and he pulled the other man closer, their bodies rubbing together harshly.

Yamamoto's hands traced the contours of Gokudera's body while the silveret knotted his hands in black hair: from his strong shoulders down his lean body, across the well-defined stomach and brushing against hipbones, and down past silk boxers. Gokudera's pale, smooth skin was warm beneath his calloused hands, a nice change from the cold outside. He knew every inch by heart, having done this a hundred times before, and, yet, after so many years, he still couldn't get enough.

He pulled out of the kiss when the necessity of air became too great, and he stared into green eyes dark with lust as he caught his breath. Gokudera—Hayato, _his _Hayato—was panting, his face flushed, and Yamamoto felt a swell of pride knowing that he was the one that caused it. He leaned forward and kissed him, quick and chaste, before pulling back and grinning. Wiry arms, strong from baseball practicing and sparring with Squalo, wrapped around his lover and drew him into an embrace. Gokudera didn't return it, only laying his head down on the swordsman's chest. His silver hair tickled Yamamoto's chin, and he kissed the top of Hayato's head.

"I missed you, 'Dera," he murmured, fingers playing with the hem of Gokudera's boxers.

Gokudera muttered his agreement and said, "How was Mexico City?" He still sounded sleepy, but less so, and Takeshi was no longer worried that he would fall asleep at a moment's notice.

Yamamoto shrugged, and replied, "It was alright. I never want to go back, though. Too polluted, and it was too crowded." Gokudera chuckled darkly. "I'll bet Hibari just _loved _that. He probably had a great time beating the shit out of people," he said.

Yamamoto laughed, nodding. "Oh yes. There was this one man; he tried to steal Hibari-san's wallet. Poor guy." They both had a good laugh at that, and it took them awhile to calm down; every time they were close, Gokudera would see the scene play out in his head—some Mexican guy attempting to pickpocket one of the world's most dangerous men, only to severely regret it when Hibari broke his hands—and crack up all over again, or Yamamoto would remember the event and start laughing.

Finally, when they could breathe without snickering, Gokudera opened his mouth to say something. His words were lost as the dark-haired man's mouth covered his again, this time with a passion that wasn't going to yield at kissing. _It's been too long. _That was what both men were thinking as they allowed themselves to be consumed by the need for each other. Tongues danced in a battle for dominance neither would win, hands roamed, and clothes were discarded in a flurry of lust and want and desire and _need._

Their first time had been at Gokudera's flat after they had come back from the future. They hadn't meant to go as far as they had, but neither regretted their actions. They had been awkward and clumsy, neither knowing what to do; they hadn't know what would make the other writhe in pleasure and call out their name in _la petite mort_, or what would earn them a brutal yank of their hair in reprimand. They had been young and inexperienced, and while it had certainly been pleasurable, it was nothing compared to what was to come. Now, they were older and they knew what they hadn't back then. They knew without speaking what their partner wanted and what would make them arch their backs and whine in delight.

After they had both ridden out their highs, they lay together, legs and bodies intertwined, basking in the warm afterglow of sex. Yamamoto kissed his lover softly on the cheek and nuzzled his hair, breathing in all the smells he associated with Gokudera Hayato; smoke from his cigarettes and dynamite, sweat from training, and the faint musky scent that seemed to linger around him no matter what. They may not have all been pleasant scents, but they were what made up the aroma of the Italian bomber. Removing one arm reluctantly from where it had been resting across Hayato's bare back, he reached over and grabbed the box weapon from its place on the nightstand.

"Ah, Hayato?" said Yamamoto softly, nudging the other man gently. Gokudera groaned and mumbled his acknowledgement into the dark-haired man's shoulder—apparently, he'd just been getting to sleep. Yamamoto smirked and brushed his lips against the corner of his lover's.

"I have something I want to ask you."

Gokudera sat up in order to look at Yamamoto, and watched, bewildered, as the Rain Guardian ignited his vivid blue flame and pressed it against the box's opening. A small tornado of pale azure light erupted from the small box, throwing shadows everywhere in the dark room, and when it dissipated, Gokudera had to blink a few times to clear his eyesight. When he could see once again, he was treated to the sight of his lover holding up a shiny, silver ring that glinted in the faint light still radiated by the box weapon in Yamamoto's hand.

It took him a moment to process what this meant, and he still had to hear the words for it to sink in.

"Gokudera Hayato, I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you take my hand in marriage?"

Rain and storms often go together; one cannot be without the other.

It seems the same can be said of the Vongola Famiglia's Rain and Storm Guardians.


End file.
